


A late night in Boston

by Arstotzka



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Also drink up on that respecting women juice, F/M, In this house we love soft stories, Scout's Mom and Spy is a valid Ship you're just cowards, soft romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arstotzka/pseuds/Arstotzka
Summary: It's late at night at the bar where Edith, Scout's mother, works at. And as the hours go by, she remembers a lovely night she had spent with her beloved (and rather mysterious) French lover.





	A late night in Boston

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any fanfics in over 4 years, and finally, I've made an account on AO3 to change that. This OneShot is a gift for my friend, Rose - you have been a wonderful friend to me, always being kind and nice. Thank you so much for our friendship! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Booming laughter echoed through the small bar. The voices were loud enough to entirely mute the storm outside, although it had been long since anyone had paid attention to the rain. Whoever was nearby on the streets had hurried inside, and with a quick glance at the window, it was clear to Edith that no one would be leaving soon. The clouds hung heavily on the sky, darkening the evening as if it were already night. Not like she minded anyway. Edith’s work at the bar continued until late into the night, and since she didn’t need to worry about her sons – with her older sister, Dorothy, watching all seven of her boys – Edith was relaxed and focused on her job.  
Dorothy. She didn’t know what she would do without her. Within the large family they shared, Dorothy was the only one who was willing to watch over her sons, as Edith worked to sustain her and the young boys. And yet, she knew that this was beyond a sister’s kindness. As clear as it was that Dorothy loved her nephews, it was also a distraction. With her son and husband gone after the cursed Second World War, it felt as if Edith’s sister had adopted her sons in a way to forget her losses. She wasn’t complaining though. She loved her sons, but she had never been a stay at home woman, quietly obeying orders and taking care of children. Her place was out there – working hard to gain her own money and be the queen of her own life.

Sudden cheering brought her out of her thoughts. Looking up, she couldn’t hide the smile at the scenario playing out in front of her: a young woman, no older than twenty, carefully placed her elbow on one of the small, round wooden tables in the bar. In front of her sat a large man. A toothy smile was stamped on his face, nearly hidden underneath his beard. They were about to arm wrestle, and the customers nearby were more than excited for the show. Behind the bar counter, Edith leaned forwards to watch as well. The cheering continued as most people claimed that the man would easily defeat the girl. But Edith, along with the regular visitors, knew that this wouldn’t be the case. No, the girl would come in nearly every night and challenge anyone who seemed larger and stronger than her. Underneath a soft pink jacket and the delicate light jeans, the girl was far more than just a pretty face – she was weightlifter, training since she was a teenager, the girl had revealed to Edith one late night. Looking for fast money, she’d ask men at the bar to arm wrestle her, which (so far) always ended in her favour.  
Edith absolutely loved it. The moment the confidence left the eyes of the men just as the girl pushed their arms down and the surprised cheering and applause of the people was something she looked forward to every time she went to work. At that thought, Edith quickly lifted her hand, fingers covering a smile. With a soft laughter, she returned to the wet glasses in front of her. As much as she would’ve loved to keep watching, the cups wouldn’t get dry by themselves. 

After cleaning and storing back a few glasses, the chattering had died down. The girl and the man were about to begin the arm wrestling, and even the ones who had acted before like they were uninterested threw glances over at their table.  
It wasn’t quiet, but the noise lowered enough to hear the rain harshly tapping against the glass, as if even the storm wanted to come inside to the warmth of the bar and to watch them as well. On the other side, the thick, black radio standing on the counter by her played the last few seconds of a song and switched back to the radio host, talking about the weather. Many times, on lonely nights at the bar, that radio had been her only companion to break the silence. How she hated those nights.  
As the radio chattered away and the people watched the man and the girl, a woman approached the bar, sitting right in front of Edith. Another regular – a single woman, in her late fifties. Many nights had Edith spent listening to the older woman ramble about her life. 

“Oh, my daughter is a lovely thing,” the woman had said one day, swirling around the bit if beer left in her glass, “With a lovely husband, a lovely house and lovely kids. But does she have time for her lovely mother? I don’t think so!”

In response, Edith simply offered a glass of beer for free. It was good enough for the woman, and they kept a relationship of venting about how life mistreated them while the other quietly listened.  
But for once, she seemed happy. With long and red painted fingernails, she tapped against the wooden top of the counter to get Edith’s attention (as if she wasn’t sitting in front of her already). 

“If she keeps this up, she’ll get herself dead, I tell you that. One day one of those men won’t take it lightly in loosing against her!” the woman said.

“She knows what she’s doing, Susan.” Edith replied, glancing at the girl and the man.

The girl seemed to be struggling with his strength, but Edith had seen that show many times. Weren’t she a weightlifter, she was certain that the girl could’ve been a perfect actress.

“These young folks are getting smarter by the day. When I was her age, my mother would’ve died if she saw me wearing pants.” Susan said with a laughter, “Ah, but I don’t hate her. Have to admit, I’m proud. It’s like watching her do everything I never had the courage to do when I was younger.”

“But thank God times change, right?” Edith smiled and raised an eyebrow at Susan, who let out a hearty laughter.

“They sure do.”

Astonished gasps interrupted their short conversation, and both women turned back to the girl one more time. It came to no surprise when they saw the young woman pushing down the man’s arm and the gasps turned into cheering once again. The man’s mouth hung open as he stared at her in disbelief, quickly switching his glance between his arm, pressed against the table and the young woman who was smiling rather sarcastically at him.  
Edith couldn’t have been any more pleased. She felt a certain kind of pride as she finished drying the glasses and watching the victorious woman cash her prize. Daftly, she picked up the money from the bets, sticking the bills and coins into a pocket inside her jacket. Once she was finished, she returned to the man, who still seemed like he was trying to find out how in the world he had lost. She leaned over the table and said something in a voice low enough that only the man could hear. Whatever it was that she had said, it must’ve hit a sensitive spot; the man’s face turned from surprised to angered, flushing red, and he immediately stood up. He seemed like he wanted to yell, but instead, he swallowed whatever it was what he wanted to say and stormed out of the bar.

The cold wind that came shortly through the door once the man left felt like cold fingers, brushing against Edith’s face. A shudder went down her spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold. It reminded her of something else, of someone else. A special someone, with an awkward smile who spoke with a French accent and broken English and yet managed to make every word seem so sweet and genuine.  
Lucien. After so many misadventures in love, it was strange of how soft his name felt to her. Out of all the men she had been with, this Frenchman was peculiar to say the least.  
He had been in the war he managed to explain when they first met, though he did not go further into details. But she didn’t really mind; it gave him an air of mystery that Edith found herself rather fond of. 

The thoughts of her mysterious French lover slipped away once she heard the young woman and Susan laughing loudly. Edith had no idea what they were talking about, but she smiled nonetheless. 

“I’ve never seen you this distracted, sister.”, the young woman reached behind her head to loosen up her hair, soft dark brown curls now flowing down her shoulders.

“Oh, but I have.” Susan chimed in. “It’s either kids, bills or love. It always is.”  
“Or I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit!”, Susan sounded offended, and her exclamation made the young woman laugh. “You don’t look tired. There’s something on you, but it’s not ‘tired’. And since you’re not, why dontcha’ throw in two more beers for us? Oh, don’t even touch that money, kiddo – let mama Susan pay for you.” 

Usually Edith would’ve talked and joked, participating in the conversation. But at that moment she realized that yes, she was indeed tired. She laughed and got the beers for the two ladies and left them to chat. Now that the challenge was over and the young woman was busy listening to Susan talking, the bar slowly quieted down. People returned to their tables and others noticed that the time flew by and how late it had gotten, ever so slowly making their way out of the bar to return to their normal lives, dragging their feet and carrying sleepy and tired faces.  
To say that the bar, just booming with laughter, was now silent would be an overstatement. It merely quieted down now that the entertainment was over. The rain calmed down and the once drumming against the glass became a gentle tapping, its rhythm mixed with the low chattering in the bar and the occasional laughter. 

And Edith felt tired.

But not in a physical sense; no, if she had to, she could still work all night and then the next day and the night to come. Neither was it because of her emotions; she was in a pleasant company and with her sons being taken care of, she had no worries. It was something else that her mind couldn’t explain, and yet, strangely enough, she was certain her body knew what it was. It felt like something she had felt before. But what?

Sighing, Edith turned back to the radio. It was low, but not like there was any use in keeping the volume up when everyone was talking and no one listening. But now, she cranked up the volume, a pleasant melody filling the warm bar.  
A truly pleasing melody, she thought. Where have I heard this before? Oh. Of course…

It had been a few weeks ago – maybe seven? Eight? – that she had spent that lovely night with Lucien. Of course they had met in the past few days again. He was a true gentlemen, she couldn’t deny that, always being so kind to her. And handsome as well; a true Refined Rogue, if she dared to say!  
That night had been … exciting, in more than one way, but laying there in the bed with him, any moment felt special. Not like it was peculiarly hard; that Frenchman was charming in many ways. But that one night, he did something she didn’t expect. While they laid in bed, she had requested him to speak in French, as that very song lowly hummed throughout the walls. But that small ask turned into the sweetest declaration of love she had ever received. 

For someone who had been so awkward before speaking English, being in the United States for the first time, his voice sounded clear and relaxed; he didn’t only say some sweet nothings to her. No, it was poetry.

Edith glanced around the bar. It was nearing closing time, and more and more people made their way out. The young woman and Susan slowly became tired as well as their loud voices became softer. It wouldn’t be any longer until even they left the bar and Edith could close up the bar. But until then, she’d slowly put away glasses and plates – and remember that one night.

The poem.

The words seemed like velvet coming from his mouth, and though she did not understand it, it meant the world to her. Her memory of that night was still so clear that she could nearly feel him by her side, speaking once again:

**L'amour est la voix sous tous les silence, l'espoir qui n'a pas de contraire en la peur; la force si puissante que la force brute n'est que faiblesse : la vérité avant le soleil, et après les étoiles.**

She could made out a few words, but that was it. Only now, weeks later, she felt guilty for not asking him at the time what it meant – though by the expression on his face, whatever it had been, it came from his heart. That mysterious Frenchman. Sometimes it felt like that when she and him were together, no language in the world could translate what they felt for each other. They spoke words of love that only the other could understand.

And eventually, time passed. Susan seemed like she had one too many drinks that night, and the young woman was kind enough to get her back home. One by one, the people left, and one by one Edith finished in tidying up of what was left to clean up in the bar.  
She was one of the last workers to leave. The bar that just hours ago had been full and warm was now dark and silent, as she pulled the door shut and locked it for one more night. Outside, the storm had passed and the air felt cold and fresh, as if the rain had cleaned the entire city. And still, Edith felt ill.

She wasn’t sick, she knew that. Nor was she exhausted of work. It was an odd feeling that she vaguely reminded of feeling before. Something she had felt several times, in fact. And closely after, the news of her being pregnant with another child.

But she couldn’t have an eight son.

She couldn’t have a child with that mysterious Frenchman.

Or could she?

**Author's Note:**

> And here you have it!  
> I've had a blast writing this. Shoutout to my friend who got me to ship Scout's Mom & Spy. And also a shoutout to the same friend for being such a wonderful person. 
> 
> I hope everyone liked it, and thank you for reading it! ♥


End file.
